


Things Lost, Things Found

by lemonjelly



Category: Community
Genre: Britta's cat, F/F, summer time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-09
Updated: 2012-06-09
Packaged: 2017-11-07 09:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/429717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonjelly/pseuds/lemonjelly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annie helps Britta search for her lost cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Lost, Things Found

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted this morning by reading a Tumblr call for general fic, by britta-edison. Any excuse, really. Unfortunately, this would not quite fit within the Ask Box character limit, so it is here. Also, since Britta's last cat seemed to be named after Susan B. Anthony, I thought it would be just too good an obvious opportunity to miss if I didn't name one after Carrie Chapman Catt...

**Things Lost, Things Found**  

It was Annie who swore she spotted a tabby cat, crooked tail, disappearing off into someone's back garden, and grabbed Britta's hand, off in pursuit. But Britta's wearing shorts and is used to this kind of stuff from guerilla protests, so she's fine with trampling through back hedges and scaling fences. 

"Annie...?" she calls out, when she hasn't heard her voice in a while. A scuffling sound, some twigs snapping - a little yelp.

Then, uncertainly: "I'm okay!"

Annie tumbles through undergrowth and appears in front of Britta. The bridge of her nose is starting to redden under the summer sun and Britta absently reaches out a hand to touch her fingertips to Annie's hot skin.

"Am I burnt?" Annie asks. She's in a pretty sundress, only the hem's starting to unravel now, and Annie's legs are flecked in little scratches.

Britta picks out a couple of leaves from Annie's usually-pristine hair and pulls this face as though she doesn't know quite how to say thank-you. "It's so sweet of you to do this for me."

"Honestly, it's nothing, Britta," Annie insists. "You've been so sad ever since Carrie disappeared last week - it's the least I could do."

Britta smiles at Annie's earnestness, because the least she could do was to actually be too caught up in an Inspector Spacetime marathon, like Troy and Abed, or to pretend to be your own voicemail machine when you realise what Britta's calling about, like Jeff. Not Annie, though. Annie said, "What time shall I come round?" and arrived early.

"But you've got all scratched..." Britta says. 

Annie looks at her legs and then at Britta - Britta has a long, thin red stripe along her cheek from a stray thorn. "Well, so have you." she says, and rubs her thumb along the scratch, half-cradling Britta's cheek in her hand 

The sunlight on them is dappled through the trees; the air is hot and thick. Something shifts, then - something between them.

Annie says, "We're in this together, me and you." And Britta leans in to kiss her.

And Annie kisses her back, and it's just like this happens every day - the soft, firm press of their lips together, Annie's fingers moving to trail through Britta's hair, Britta sliding her palm around to the small of Annie's back.

When Britta draws back, everything and nothing is changed. Annie runs a tongue over her lips, assessing, considering. She nods once.

"We'll find your cat, Britta," she says, and there is absolute convinction in her voice, her face. Annie clasps Britta's hand, intertwining their fingers, and leads her on - deeper into the trees. 

-

 


End file.
